


where the bartering chips fall

by Verabird



Category: French History RPF, Historical RPF, Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Break the Cuties, Criminals Made Them Do It, Javert!whump, Kidnapping, M/M, The Paris Prefecture Soap Opera
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-06-05 04:56:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6690562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verabird/pseuds/Verabird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How do you control the most powerful official in Paris? Take the thing he loves the most.</p><p>So it comes to pass that Jules-Ernest Nay, intimate secretary to the Prefect of Police, is kidnapped and held for ransom. Henri Gisquet can part with money easily and he is willing to do so, but he isn't the true target and is a fool to assume he is. He is far from the most powerful man in Paris, that honour goes to Chabouillet, manipulative and influential and happy to remain comfortably in control within the lower ranks, and the kidnappers know a way to his cold heart.</p><p>In the midst of the negotiations Javert is taken and finds himself in a desolate and cold place, and worst of all he's stuck in this dark prison with his most irritating colleague. Their kidnappers are kind however, and take it upon themselves to help the pair of them get a little closer to each other.</p><p>Chabouillet's fury only grows as he learns of what has become of his protégée and Gisquet just wants his precious pet to come home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Firestorm717](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firestorm717/gifts), [jehane18](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehane18/gifts).



> This is too serious I can't believe what is emerging from my fingertips I was supposed to be writing about a gay sauna. I blame two people in particular, you know who you are, (and so does everybody else because your names are on top of this thing).

Many officers believed a man such as Javert would enjoy something as mundane and orderly as paperwork. However, this was not the case, and today was no exception. The neat stacks of numbers and reports served a purpose and Javert dutifully made his way through them, he made no complaint but derived no enjoyment, particularly as there were nearly twice the usual amount of internal memos deposited on his desk.

Surely Gisquet had purposefully hired plenty of secretaries so that the workload would remain under control, and yet most of them seemed to prance about the office doing absolutely nothing at all. At mid-morning, Chabouillet entered the building and gave him a nod in greeting before disappearing into his office, five minutes later he came out again.

"Javert, where is Monsieur Nay? None of the documents I requested of him are in my office."

Javert carefully laid down his pen and ran his fingers down the parchment before him. It wasn't anything interesting, an inventory connected with Les Halles, a case that Javert was begrudged to say they'd made little headway in.

"I have not seen him today, Monsieur. He appears to be absent this morning, as you can see his usual paper duties have been passed on to me."

Chabouillet followed the sweep of Javert's hand and took in the pile of documents. "The little minx," He muttered under his breath. "I'll have a word with Gisquet. I don't want him keeping you from proper work."

"It is police work, therefore it is proper, and I don't mind it so much as long as it keeps my hands busy."

Chabouillet let out a hiss through his teeth and glanced around the office, expecting Monsieur Nay to jump out from behind a pillar at any moment. He did strange things that boy, often goaded by Gisquet himself, but sometimes he just took it upon himself to behave like an imbecile. Not unlike the time he'd taken a feather duster to every desk leg in the building, making sure someone was behind him to watch.

"I'd rather your hands were busy elsewhere."

Javert raised an eyebrow and Chabouillet met his gaze unflinching. He tapped Javert's hand with one of his own and nodded, setting off towards the prefect's rooms.

Javert continued to soldier through the pile of messages before him. He had no intention of delivering most of them, silly and frivolous things passed between the intimate secretaries, Monsieur Nay could play Hermes if he so wished, but Javert considered them nothing but clutter. Until he reached a letter in a coarse envelope, stained and scribbled over, the address a pasted piece of fabric, used several times. Monsieur Nay would never dare to touch such a filthy thing with his delicate fingertips, but Javert held it firmly and squinted at the writing. It was a barely legible scrawl and it was surprising that it had landed on a prefect desk at all. He slipped the envelope open with his thumb and poured the letter onto his palm.

He stared. Blinked. Squinted closer and reread the lines just to make sure, then he practically kicked the desk away from him and made lengthy strides towards the prefect's office before breaking into a run. 'If you ever want to see your precious pet again...'

It swirled dangerously in his mind and he didn't allow himself to process it, not yet, not before he'd shown it to one of his superiors. Whatever his misgivings about the man, however annoying he was around the office, Javert didn't want him to die.

Monsieur Devaux was sitting on the high desk just outside the door, drawing lines and dots in ink on the paper before him, a waste of paper, a sign of boredom. He was kicking his legs back and forth too. It was most unseemly. He looked up as Javert sprinted towards him, raising an eyebrow and opening his mouth to speak.

"Have you seen Ernest this morning?"

Javert ignored the failure to give a proper greeting, the shameful way the man tossed around first names without titles, how his face betrayed a hint of concern. Javert shook his head quickly and turned to the door.

He burst into Gisquet's office without knocking, a sure sign of distress to begin with, and then took several gulps of air while standing before the prefect. Chabouillet and Gisquet both jumped backwards from each other at the sound of the door banging open, Chabouillet whipping his hands down to his sides in an instant, Gisquet being slightly slower to react.

"Inspector! What is the meaning of this?" Gisquet rounded on Javert and stared him down, brushing the creases from his waistcoat and flicking a glance to Chabouillet. Chabouillet bit his lip and turned to face the fire, Javert ignored the motion and tried not to imagine it was embarrassment he saw there.

"A letter, Monsieur," He said between gasps. "It arrived...I don't know when, this morning perhaps."

"Can it not wait?"

Javert strode forward and pressed the dirty crumpled paper into Gisquet's hand, praying he'd read it for himself so he wouldn't have to relay it. He stepped backwards, glanced at Chabouillet who was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and then turned his eyes to the gazes of past prefects that stared at him from behind oil and canvas.

Gisquet frowned and unfolded the paper, scanning it. With his one good arm he reached for the back of a chair and collapsed into it. Chabouillet stirred at this, turning to Javert for explanation. Javert, however, was staring intently at Gisquet. The prefect seemed to have completely lost himself, he was suddenly breathing heavily and his eyes were blank and pinned to the wall opposite.

"What should we do?" Javert asked. In any other case of kidnapping there was strict official procedure, but this case was different. Lack of discretion could mean terrible things for the reputation of the whole district.

"We...well, we...we should..." Gisquet swallowed heavily. "We send the money."

"The money? Javert, explain what is going on."

Javert bowed towards his patron and relayed the opening line of the letter, burned as it was to the back of his eyelids. "If you ever want to see your precious pet again you will willingly part with thirty-two thousand francs."

Chabouillet frowned then moved across to where Gisquet was still frozen like marble in the chair. He put a hand on the prefect's forearm and looked carefully into his features. "Henri, it will be fine, we'll get him back. We're the police."

Gisquet continued to stare at the wall, the light from the fire flickered off his features casting dark shadows on his temples. Chabouillet took a deep breath then raised his other hand and slapped the prefect across the face. Gisquet jolted, and the glazed expression broke, which was almost a shame because it was replaced with something harrowing, akin to fear and despair.

"Henri! Stay focused. The best officers in all of Paris are here and can solve this in a matter of hours and then Ernest will be back with you. How dare you lose faith so quickly!" He wrestled the paper from Gisquet's fist and smoothed it out. "I don't recognise this writing at all, what about you Javert?"

Javert cleared his throat. "Not the writing Monsieur, but the ink. It isn't black."

Chabouillet looked closer. "So it is. Purple almost, wouldn't you say? Just like—"

"Les Halles."

The paper scraps they'd found twice in the alleys behind two of the target houses, they contained scribbled warnings of police movements and the potential to be spotted. The ink had been of poor quality, lurid and cheap, lacking the dark pigment of pure black.

"I'm not risking him so you can use him in your traps," Gisquet said, voice suddenly loud. "I'd rather every thief in Paris went free than use him as a bartering chip."

"It won't come to that," Chabouillet said quickly, just as Javert said at the same time; "I don't barter with thieves."

Chabouillet gestured to Javert. "Well there you go. Monsieur Nay will not be used in a scheme to catch them, not while he is in present danger, but it might help to find him. They work in the Les Halles area, likely they're holding him there too."

Gisquet frowned and passed a palm across his forehead. Javert watched his anguish in confusion, surely Jules-Ernest was no more than a play thing, Gisguet could not have developed feelings for such a petulant boy. He wondered if officers whispered similar things about himself and Chabouillet behind their backs.

"What else did the letter say? Read it for me Javert," Chabouillet said, steepling his fingers and turning to stare into the fire. "Hearing it back will help me think."

Javert took the rag paper and clutched the corners. He cleared his throat. "For the attention of Henri Joseph Gisquet, Prefect of the Paris Police. If you ever want to see your precious pet again you will willingly part with thirty-two thousand francs. Is there not poetic justice in that Monsieur? The same sum you lent him, now you shall send it back to the people. A messenger will be sent with instructions for depositing the funds and you must do nothing until this time. I would warn of the risk of contacting the police, but sadly this cannot be avoided. Until that time Monsieur you must sit tight, your pet is safe for now, and while we wait for your decision I'm sure we can find plenty to entertain ourselves with." Javert looked up from the page. "It ends there. No signature."  
"The brutes," Gisquet muttered, fists clenched. "They must have taken him last night when he finished the shift. He's been with them all night no doubt. The poor boy, I have failed him."

Javert bit his tongue and held back from mentioning that Jules-Ernest had spent many nights in stranger predicaments and could likely handle himself for a few more hours while they sorted this all out. Chabouillet began to massage his temples and knitted his brows together. Javert watched him pace back and forth, then turned his eyes to Gisquet who was still framed as if he'd been shot, winded, shattered.

The knock at the door startled them all. Javert, being the most collected of all of them, called for entry. Monsieur Devaux entered, bowed apologetically, and wet his lips.

"What is it?" Javert asked quickly, wanting none of the shuffling and stuttering that Jules-Nabon usually brought with him when delivering messages.

"Urgent message for the prefect, just delivered."

Something in Gisquet snapped in an instant and he rose, moving towards Monsieur Devaux with lightning speed and reaching towards his person. "Where is it?" He said breathlessly. "Where's the note?"

"T-There isn't one Monsieur, a gamin relayed it."

"Where is this child?"

"Gone now Monsieur."  
"Why would you let him go? He could be the only link and you let him go? You imbecilic—"

"Henri!" Chabouillet clenched Gisquet's forearm to steady him and gave him a meaningful look. "Let us hear the message."

Monsieur Devaux swallowed nervously before continuing. "The gamin said they have decided to be merciful to the prefect's pocket and are now offering an alternative demand."

"They have relented so quickly?"

"Henri, please." Chabouillet motioned for Monsieur Devaux to continue.

"The meeting place is Rue Sauval, this evening at six o'clock, just after sun down. They will be many and they will be armed."

Monsieur Devaux paused for a moment to glance between the other three men in the room. Chabouillet sighed in frustration. "Well, get on with it man."

"They want the Inspector to carry out the negotiation."

Chabouillet instinctively switched from holding onto Gisquet's elbow to grabbing hold of Javert. It was a possessive motion and his fingers gripped tightly to the comforting wool of Javert's coat. Javert met his patron's gaze steadily, silently affirming that he would be fine. "That is appropriate," He said. "In many ways they will be on the back foot. They will be feeling uneasy and will want to make it quick, they will know I do not waste time."

Monsieur Devaux would not meet his gaze, but shifted from foot to foot. Javert suddenly realised how unusual this message would seem to the secretary, having not seen the original note, but Jules-Nabon was not so vapid and likely he'd filled in the gaps. Gisquet's vacant expression wasn't helping to keep any secrets.

"He must come alone. If he brings with him the thirty-two thousand francs then they will take the money, if he comes empty handed then they will take the Inspector instead."


	2. Chapter 2

Jules-Ernest was taking his final pile of paperwork into the prefect's office and then he would be free from secretarial duties. The evening was cool and the sun had set, as was expected before the spring, and the corridors were marked with small flickering candles. He deposited his papers on Monsieur Gisquet's desk, brushed a delicate blonde curl away from his forehead, pinched his cheeks to make them pink, then plopped himself down on the Prefect's lap.

Gisquet sat before the fire in his gilt backed chair and he raised his head in amusement as Jules-Ernest began to wrap his legs over his own thighs and skim his fingers over his shoulders. He reached out and took the boy's chin in his fingers, turning it towards the fire so he could see Jules-Ernest's profile against the amber glow of the flames. He hummed softly in approval before tilting the boy's head down and gently kissing the crown of golden curls.

Jules-Ernest smiled as one of Gisquet's arms snaked round his waist and pulled him closer, the warmth of body and fire far outweighing the cold of the night. "Monsieur," Jules-Ernest practically purred. "My assigned duties are all complete for the day. Do you have any further duties I should attend to?"

His fingers pressed into Gisquet's shoulders and curled round his neck He brought his knees closer as he put pressure on the man's thighs, breathing quickened and it cast warm shadows on the prefect's neck.

"My dear boy, you are good to me."

Jules-Ernest's fingers wrapped around Gisquet's cravat, gently tugging until it revealed enough bare neck to nuzzle. He kissed skin, dragging his teeth slightly, not quite biting. Gisquet let out a small moan and pressed a palm to the small of Jules-Ernest's back, pulling him closer.

"I wish..." He trailed off, the thought gone as Jules-Ernest's well-practised hand snaked down and pressed firmly between his thighs. With great disappointment, he reached for that hand and held its wrist, tugging it away. "I wish I could," He said finally, finishing the earlier statement. "But, not tonight."

Jules-Ernest tried his best not to look upset, but he drooped visibly and his lip trembled. Nevertheless, he sat back and drew the Prefect out to arm's length, giving him a quizzical look.

"The day has been trying," Gisquet said with a sigh. "And I would like nothing better, but I simply cannot. Our ministers are oft in need of evening meetings due to their busy schedules, and that is why I must remain. Much as I would like you on my lap in such a meeting, I do not think they would deign it appropriate."

Jules-Ernest's pout was pronounced on his otherwise soft features. He continued to squeeze his thighs together and ran an index finger down Gisquet's neck. Something in Gisquet shifted and he jerked away with alarming severity.

"Do not forget yourself Monsieur Nay!"

Jules-Ernest felt his eyes well up and his throat tighten, but he nodded slowly and slid off Gisquet's lap. He bit his lip nervously as he folded his hands before him then bowed. "If that is what Monsieur wants."

"You silly boy, of course it isn't what I want." Gisquet frowned, glancing between the fire and his secretary before him. "We shall be two hours, maybe more. Perhaps you could take a diversion on your journey home and find your way to my lodgings, the porter knows you well enough now to let you in to wait."

Jules-Ernest nodded quickly, then in a swift movement leaned forward to kiss the prefect on the cheek, licked his lips, then excused himself from the room. It had been an unsatisfactory encounter, but there was little he could do. He himself was left wanting and marginally desperate, yet Gisquet had refused his advances and shaken him off as one would an eager dog. His cheeks flushed a dark red hue and he hurried to fetch his hat and coat. If Gisquet wanted him to leave then he would do so.

He headed towards the nearest fiacre, intending to ride to Gisquet's dwelling, but the driver curtly informed him that the carriage was waiting for another patron. He glanced around for another, but the early evening was not a suitable time to hail a carriage and there were none to be found.

Fine, Jules-Ernest thought, he would walk home, and this decided his path for him because he certainly wasn't going to walk to Gisquet's house which was much further than his own. Jules-Ernest rode around in comfortable carriages, he didn't walk anywhere, especially not in these heels.

He set off towards the bridge, thrusting his hands into his pockets with an unseemly gesture, and keeping his nose pointed down in his huff. He felt the first drop of rain on the back of his neck, and then the heavens opened and a shower began to fall from the sky. Jules-Ernest watched in despair as the feather on his hat drooped forward over the brim and the velvet of his coat slowly darkened with water. What a miserable moment for Jules-Ernest, advances rejected, and now he must walk - walk! - home in the rain.

He barely noticed the dark carriage with heavily curtained windows pull up next to him. The horse continued to trot at a slow pace, matching his speed, so that the occupant could lean out the window and maintain a parallel conversation.

"Monsieur, where are you off to this fine evening?"

Jules-Ernest raised his dripping face and stared at the owner of the voice, but his irritation could not remain present in his expression for long. The man currently leaning out the carriage was darkly handsome, beautiful almost, his skin pale with the likely help of powder, his lips red, dark hair pulled back into a loose and fashionable bow with a singular braid at the side. He was dressed well also, frock coat made from a two-tone purple silk and a matching cravat.

Jules-Ernest snapped his mouth shut from where it had been hanging open, ran his tongue over his lips and adopted his best coy expression. "I was heading for home, but perhaps, Monsieur, you could be of some assistance. You find me in the storm without a carriage and I would be most grateful for a borrowed journey.

He tilted his head to one side and placed a delicate finger beneath his chin, a position he'd practised many times over in the prefecture mirrors and Jules-Ernest was sure it made him irresistible.

"How expensive would such a ride be for me, Monsieur?"

Jules-Ernest started, momentarily surprised at the man's frankness. So, he believed him to be a whore, which was not entirely untrue, and he was certainly dressed like one. Yet Jules-Ernest was proud that he didn't wander the streets or even take private clients. He was whore to one man and one man only (and any other men that one man decided he should be privy to), he was not used to being propositioned on the street.

"Monsieur, I believe there has been a misunderstanding."

"How so?"

Jules-Ernest considered. The rain was flattening out the blonde waves that he spent so long every morning curling, and he knew that once they had lost their volume he would look very miserable indeed. He was also aware of the water on his cheeks, smudging his powder and he could almost feel his eyelashes drooping with the weight. A free carriage ride with a darkly handsome man, plus a few francs and gropes into the bargain, it didn't seem a bad price to get him out the rain.

"I am not in the habit of allowing gentlemen to pay me for the pleasure of riding in their carriages."

The man within was now tracing the gilt edge of the window with the tip of his index finger, his head cocked to one side, regarding Jules-Ernest with a predatory look.

"Perhaps you may decide if such a carriage ride deserves a fee once we arrive at your destination. Would that suffice?"

Jules-Ernest bit his lip and glanced left and right down the street. A fat rain drop landed on his cheek and he blinked in response, then decided that the single rain drop had dictated his fate.

"That sounds most agreeable."

The man grinned from ear to ear, all his teeth bared, then in a lithe display he slid from the carriage and held the door for Jules-Ernest. Jules-Ernest removed his hat, clutching the soaked thing in his fist, then climbed inside. The man followed in after, blotting out the remaining grey light from the outside street with his menacing frame in the doorway.

Jules-Ernest sat primly on the edge of the velvet seat, fiddling with the rings on his fingers and swaying his legs slightly. He imagined Gisquet's reaction to finding out he'd just climbed into the carriage of a stranger for various nefarious purposes. The Prefect would not be pleased, he was not one to share unless he knew he'd derive pleasure from watching the act, and usually he held Jules-Ernest close to his chest. Jules-Ernest often felt like a prize pet, and sometimes even less than that - a piece of valuable antique furniture perhaps - kept on display and varnished occasionally. Well, Gisquet would never find out, and even if he did Jules-Ernest silently convinced himself that he was well within his rights.

The man sat opposite him, the smile still set on his face. He wasted no time with propriety and leaned forward, placing a palm firmly on Jules-Ernest's thigh. Jules-Ernest stared down at it, eyes widening slightly, but he didn't start or shift away.

"Monsieur, how very forward," He remarked, trying to keep his voice steady. "You do not even know my name."

"Enlighten me." The words seemed to swirl round the man's tongue and leave from a deep place in the back of his throat. The sound was smooth, alluring. The palm was sliding up Jules-Ernest's thigh, the rustle of fabric noticeable in the quiet carriage.

"Monsieur Nay," Jules-Ernest said softly, tilting his hips forward so the palm slid further upwards, the tips of the slender fingers nudging against the bunched fabric at his groin. "And you?"

"Montparnasse," The man said, placing his other bare palm on Jules-Ernest's cheek and gently stroking the flushed skin. He began to trace Jules-Ernest's jaw, his lips, then used an index finger to draw down on his lower lip. Jules-Ernest let his mouth go slack, those elegant fingers pulling a moan and a sigh from his parted lips. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Monsieur Nay."

Jules-Ernest moaned as Montparnasse drew his fingers further down and ran them across his jaw. Suddenly they held there, firm, squeezing tight, and Jules-Ernest felt nails dig into his skin just where his jawline gave way to the sensitive skin of his neck. He let out a gasp, reaching one hand up to take hold of Montparnasse's wrist. Montparnasse was not deterred, he let his fingers glance down to Jules-Ernest's neck where they held his throat in a loose grip. Jules-Ernest didn't fight back or squirm and allowed his hand to obediently follow as it still held to Montparnasse's arm.

"Has anyone ever told you, you are quite a beautiful creature?"

Jules-Ernest felt his pulse beating frantically beneath Montparnasse's fingers. He was blushing shamefully, his body betraying how much he was enjoying this encounter. He let his eyes flutter closed and tilted his head back, dropping his hands to the seat and gripping to the velvet at his sides, feeling through touch alone the hands loosen the bow of his cravat. The material slipped away from his neck and was replaced by warm breath and a soft mouth kissing where a palm had threatened to squeeze and choke moments before.

"Many times, Monsieur," He spoke as a breath, and it was true. Gisquet told him he was beautiful on a daily basis, Devaux had mentioned it, even Chabouillet had let the word slip when he wasn't so irritated by him, but somehow, this stranger's words were more attractive.

"I must think of more imaginative compliments."

Montparnasse had drawn back and was holding Jules-Ernest's cheeks cupped in his palms. He smiled, darkly enticing, eyes sparkling, and leaned forward, kissing Jules-Ernest fully on the lips. Jules-Ernest felt himself melt into it, letting his lips part as a forceful tongue coaxed them open, felt a thumb stroking against his cheek. Jules-Ernest was usually the one doing the kissing, rarely did anyone take the initiative to kiss him, and with such heat and fervour too!

Montparnasse broke away, then leaned forward again to press kisses to Jules-Ernest's temples and forehead and cheeks.

"Monsieur, I-..." Jules-Ernest let his face be manoeuvred and tilted beneath the convincing fingers. Thumbs pressed into the dip of his collar bone and ran over the shadowed lines.

"Are you not comfortable?" Montparnasse asked, breathing close to his ear this time, voice a soft and warm murmur. "You are welcome to depart at any time."

"No Monsieur it's not that." Jules-Ernest's own voice was quiet and unsure as Montparnasse slid Jules-Ernest's coat from his shoulders and turned to the expensive waistcoat beneath. Jules-Ernest felt vulnerable even in his shirtsleeves, but he didn't move to protest as Montparnasse worked to remove this also. "I am merely taken aback by your actions. Hesitant perhaps, but I do not wish you to stop."

Montparnasse nodded, scraping his fingernails down Jules-Ernest's now bare chest and dipping them into his waist. Jules-Ernest felt a rush of heat wash over him.

"Perhaps I misjudged you," Montparnasse said. He was now tugging at Jules-Ernest's trousers, working off the carefully buckled court shoes so he could pull them further down his ankles. "You were walking alone so I assumed, and your clothes, they are...misleading."

Jules-Ernest glanced at the outfit that was now scattered around the carriage. Deep pink and red hues in shiny satin matched with white beading and trim. Gisquet funded his wardrobe and had a say in what he wore, it was only appropriate that the man who he depended on for his finances would have control over what he spent it on. Often he felt he was being dressed up for another man's amusement, and other times he embraced the feminine cuts and vast quantities of lace. He enjoyed turning heads and relished in gossip and jealousy. Yet, now for the first time he felt somewhat ridiculous. He was grateful that the large plumed feather on his hat had been subdued by the rain.

He didn't know whether it would be wise to dissuade the man that he was a whore, or reassure him by remarking that he often was intimate with multiple men and one paid him a respectable sum of money for the privilege.

"I am not inexperienced," He said finally. Montparnasse laughed and pressed his palms back to Jules-Ernest's thighs, then suddenly grabbed his cock in a forceful tight fist. The sudden harsh grip was somehow too much too soon and Jules-Ernest cried out at the touch and tried to draw back, but Montparnasse's other hand was gripping his waist with a similar intensity and preventing him from moving.

"I'm sure we have come to an understanding," He said, smile terrifyingly bright. He held Jules-Ernest firm for a few moments, and when he was sure he would not try to squirm away he let go and reached for his own trousers. Jules-Ernest watched the fingers fumble with buttons and then stared at the freed erection. He was overwhelmed with the sudden urge to take the length in his hand, hold the base with intent and then lower his mouth onto it. But, Montparnasse reached forward to grip his cock again, just as tight as before, and Jules-Ernest did not have the time to make such a decision.

Montparnasse yanked suddenly and Jules-Ernest shrieked, flailing and attempting to clutch at the velvet trappings of the carriage. Montparnasse continued to stroke, his palm hot, the friction immense and unbearable, pulling hard and holding too tight. Jules-Ernest felt his eyes close and his head tilt back, relaxing into the brutal strokes as best he could, and then just as soon as it had begun Montparnasse had let go.

Jules-Ernest moaned at the loss and began to whimper quietly. He reached out for Montparnasse's wrist and worked his fingers open, pressing the palm back against his own desperate length. Montparnasse laughed and stroked Jules-Ernest a few times more with a loose fist then let go again. Jules-Ernest groaned in frustration and flashed a pleading look at Montparnasse.

Montparnasse smiled, then his hand passed round the back of Jules-Ernest's neck and he held him there. "Turn around, kneel on the seat."

"Why, Monsieur?"

A flash of something other than amusement briefly crossed Montparnasse's face, but it was replaced just as quickly. "Most of my conquests prefer to be prepared."

Jules-Ernest blinked then swallowed. Biting his lip he shifted in the seat and turned, kneeling so he was facing the back of the carriage.

"Good," Montparnasse said smoothly. "You will learn to follow simple orders soon enough."

Jules-Ernest rolled his shoulders and arched his back, tilting his neck slightly, knowing this position often delighted Gisquet. Montparnasse seemed similarly impressed as a whistle of approval escaped his lips. Jules-Ernest could feel warm breath on his neck and then in a swift movement Montparnasse bit the vulnerable flesh of his shoulder. He let out a high-pitched squeal before settling into rapid gasps. Montparnasse's tongue replaced teeth, and then soft lips, kissing away the sudden pain of the bite.

Jules-Ernest heard the slippery wet sounds of Montparnasse sucking two fingers and then tensed as he felt them press against his entrance. The slim fingers ran down the cleft of his arse and pushed insistently. Jules-Ernest tilted his hips and relaxed, letting the fingers slide in. He allowed himself to be fucked on Montparnasse's two fingers, working the rhythm himself

As they slipped out again Jules-Ernest moaned for their loss and waited eagerly for them to be replaced by something larger and hotter. Instead he felt strong hands grip his upper arms and pull his shoulders back. Montparnasse held him fast, forcing his elbows as close together as they would go, he was sure they were almost touching. Then he felt coils of coarse rope brush against his lower back and knew that Montparnasse would attempt to bind him. He jerked away at this, but Montparnasse's touch was still gentle.

"Relax mon cher, I will not make it tight."

Jules-Ernest had been bound many times in multiple predicaments. Gisquet had a thirst for seeing him helpless and Chabouillet had a particularly cruel imagination. Together, they made a formidable team when playing with rope. But, never had he been rendered completely vulnerable before a stranger, not least when he was naked.

"I am not sure, Monsieur," Jules-Ernest replied, but he was aware that he was not struggling greatly, and he had not made much attempt to throw Montparnasse off him. "What if your intentions are inappropriate?"

Montparnasse stroked his arms with an alarming tenderness. "Monsieur Nay, I do believe you are already aware of my intentions." With these words Montparnasse ran his fingers back over Jules-Ernest's arse and lightly teased his entrance. Jules-Ernest let out a flutter of breath and let his arms go slack.

"Not too tight then," He said, voice quivering with the anticipation.

He could almost sense the smile gracing Montparnasse's face as he wound the rope round his elbows and cinched his arms together. Then he circled more rope round his wrists and pulled tight. Jules-Ernest tested the bonds and found that there was no give at all, the ropes were painfully tight and forced his arms closer together far more than he could naturally manage.

"Not too tight I said."

Montparnasse ran a finger across Jules-Ernest's panicked lips and made a shhhing sound. Then his hands ran to the delicate waist and hoisted Jules-Ernest up as if he weighed little more then a feather. He turned him and then sat him down slowly on his lap, carefully guiding his cock until Jules-Ernest was flush against his thighs and taken to the hilt. Jules-Ernest took a moment to steady his breathing then glanced down at Montparnasse.

Montparnasse looked coolly unaffected, still smiling softly, his fingers tracing light patterns on the sensitive skin of Jules-Ernest's hips. Jules-Ernest himself could feel his breath hitching and his heart racing, his pupils were blown and his curls in disarray, and despite the disconcerting tightness in the ropes he was still aching for Montparnasse to fuck him.

He shifted forward and tried to gain some friction, but he had no purchase, his feet didn't touch the floor whilst on Montparnasse's lap, and his hands were useless to him.

Montparnasse watched him struggle for a moment before taking a second length of rope and working it through his fingers. Jules-Ernest watched in confusion until he recognised the device Montparnasse's hands had formed. Even if he wanted to protest, physically he could not, and so the noose was slipped over his head without complaint. Montparnasse pulled the slipknot, pressing the coarse rope close to Jules-Ernest's neck and making sure it was secure. Then he took the end and pulled it taut. Jules-Ernest lurched forward, falling against Montparnasse's chest, but he was simply pushed back by a firm palm against his abdomen. The motion had caused the cock inside him to dig into him at an uncomfortable angle, deep as it could go.

Once he was steady again, Montparnasse rested a hand on his hip and then casually pulled on the rope again. Jules-Ernest felt his thighs tense and his arse clench instinctively as he tried to keep his balance, shrieking as Montparnasse's cock hit him deep within. A shudder ran through his body, a cool sweat breaking out across his skin. Montparnasse seemed unperturbed and he continued to pull on the rope around Jules-Ernest's neck, using it to control his thrusts.

Montparnasse barely had to move, and he nonchalantly leaned back in the seat, one hand resting casually on Jules-Ernest's hip, the other yanking him by the neck to keep the pace. Jules-Ernest moaned in satisfaction as the position kept probing him at a deep angle, hitting a space that Gisquet's fingers could never hope to reach. The thought of Gisquet sobered him a little, he would never approve, but then the sight of the handsome young man in repose beneath him filled his gaze and Gisquet was all but forgotten.

He moved as Montparnasse required, guided by the rope, feeling it cinch tighter around his neck with each thrust. If he didn't climax soon the black spots at the edge of his vision would threaten to smother him. Luckily, the situation was more than arousing for Jules-Ernest, the allure of a stranger gripping him by the confines of a rope, forcing him to move around his cock as his arms were pinned and helpless, it was enough to send him so close to the edge.

He whimpered, gazed at Montparnasse pleadingly, and sure enough Montparnasse let his hand slip from Jules-Ernest's hip and grip his cock again. He held his palm loose, letting Jules-Ernest thrust into him, then gripped tighter as he neared his own completion. He timed it like an artist, ensuring that they tipped over into bliss simultaneously. Montparnasse felt a shiver of pleasure course through him and he held tight to Jules-Ernest's cock in one hand and the rope in the other. Jules-Ernest came with a stifled scream, spilling over Montparnasse's stomach and his own thighs.

Montparnasse paused for a moment, letting the after-glow wash over him in comforting waves before he lifted Jules-Ernest by the hips. He deposited him unceremoniously on the floor and Jules-Ernest was in too delightful a state to question why Montparnasse had simply tossed him still bound to the carriage carpet. Montparnasse cleaned himself up with a handkerchief and then set to redress, emerging the same handsome gentlemen as before with barely a rumpled crease in sight.

The carriage rumbled to a slow halt and the driver rapped sharply on the front wall. Montparnasse glanced down at Jules-Ernest in his whimpering heap and smiled with the same predatory smile as when he'd first climbed in. "Perfect timing don't you think Monsieur."

Jules-Ernest was still breathing heavily, but he managed to speak around his gasps. "Indeed, I am most grateful for the ride."

Montparnasse laughed. "I look forward to more over the next few days. Although perhaps it will be longer depending on the speed of our messenger."

"Monsieur?"

"Come on, up you get."

Montparnasse hooked a hand beneath Jules-Ernest's elbows and yanked him to his feet. The carriage was tall enough to allow them both to stand, but Montparnasse kept a strong grip on the rope and held Jules-Ernest down by his waist, forcing him to bend uncomfortably.

"If you would help me out of these Monsieur," Jules-Ernest said, struggling against Montparnasse's grip. The man's tone was concerning now and the ropes had begun to hurt. It was at this stage that Gisquet usually untied him with the utmost care, kissing the places where ropes or the cane had marked the skin red, sometimes lowering him onto soft sheets or gently washing him in a steaming bath. Kind words commonly followed, and they would talk of politics and Gisquet would pinch his cheeks and smile and Jules-Ernest would be more than content.

Montparnasse was granting him no such care.

"I do not think the time is right, Monsieur Nay."

"Please, Monsieur." Jules-Ernest heard his voice as a tiny cry of pain and could feel tears welling up in his eyes. "I cannot manage for long."

"You will have to I'm afraid."

Montparnasse laughed again and the sound was cold to Jules-Ernest's ears. He turned the handle of the carriage door and let the cool wind of the street inside. The rain had stopped and the sky had turned dark, Jules-Ernest caught sight of a heavy set door and a window boarded up with splintered wood. Montparnasse tugged on the rope surrounding his elbows and shoved him down the steps. Naturally Jules-Ernest tripped and landed on the cobbles, his knees grazed against the cold wet stone. He was painfully aware that he was completely naked, covered in his own spend, and now lying in the middle of the street with the skin on his knees stinging. Thankfully, there was no one around to see and modesty prevented him from calling for help. What would anyone think if they saw such a scene? No one would run to his rescue or call for help. They wouldn't see the bourgeois in need of assistance, they would merely see a naked young man whimpering in pain, a dribbling mess covered in the result of his shame.

Montparnasse descended the stairs behind him and hooked his fingers beneath the rope round his neck then pulled him towards the boarded up building with relentless force.

"Monsieur Nay, you may be beautiful, but you are quite stupid. If you wanted me to drop you off at your home, surely it would have been prudent of you to mention the address."

Jules-Ernest opened his mouth, abandoning shame and modesty and choosing instead to scream the street down for all his worth. Montparnasse yanked hard on the rope, choking the air from him, preventing any sound coming out. He waited a few moments until Jules-Ernest was quite red from trying to grasp some air for his lungs before letting out the rope slightly. He grabbed a fistful of Jules-Ernest's hair and cruelly yanked his head back then slapped him hard, first one way then the other.

"Please, Monsieur," Jules-Ernest whimpered pathetically, tears streaming down his smarting cheeks. "I'll do anything."

"Oh yes," Montparnasse agreed. "I assure you, you will."

"Let me go."

"All in good time."

He began to drag Jules-Ernest by the hair, sliding a key into the lock with his other hand and kicking the door open. Jules-Ernest scrambled for purchase as he was dragged across the threshold, and began to scream again. Montparnasse reacted quickly, yanking on the rope.

He left it longer this time before releasing Jules-Ernest's throat and allowing him to breath. "It really would be better if you were to shut up." He sneered down at the man squirming on the boards. "I've never removed someone's vocal chords before, but I'm willing to give it a try."

Jules-Ernest quickly clamped his mouth shut and tried to blink back the tears that were falling at a constant rate.

"I've got him!" Montparnasse called into the house and then began to drag Jules-Ernest towards a trap door in the corner. He raised the boards revealing a staircase into darkness and rested Jules-Ernest near the edge, giving him a decent kick in the ribs for good measure. Through blurry eyes Jules-Ernest watched as more men surrounded him, certain there were at least four now, but he couldn't be sure through his tears and pain.

"I thought we were keeping him in a bedroom," One of the men said, Jules-Ernest could make out a leather apron and gloves.

"He'll scream the place down."

"Gag him."

"Obviously." Montparnasse pinched the bridge of his nose. "But it won't be enough so we're keeping him down there. You can still get your kicks."

"Not much atmosphere in the basement."

"Atmosphere? You're not romancing him Babet."

"No, you got there first."

Jules-Ernest heard laughter and then the tip of a boot pressed against his cock, clearly they were noticing the mess all over his thighs. He let out a broken sob.

Montparnasse grasped him by the hair again and began to guide him down the steps into the pitch-black basement. One of the other men followed behind with a candle and Jules-Ernest had a glance at his surroundings. There was a threadbare mattress in one corner and not much else besides the broken beams that jutted out from stone walls.

"Please," Jules-Ernest begged between hitches in breath and sobs. "Monsieur, I have money. My employer, Monsieur Gisquet, the Prefect himself, I'm sure he will pay what you want."

"Yes, that is the idea." Montparnasse loosened the ropes around Jules-Ernest's elbows, but kept the ones binding his wrists, checking them first to make sure they were still tight. He passed the long end of the noose around one of the exposed beams, leaving enough slack for Jules-Ernest to lie down, but not enough to reach the door. Lastly he knelt and pulled two handkerchiefs from his pocket. The first he stuffed into Jules-Ernest's mouth, forcing his fingers into his cheeks. The second he passed between his lips and secured with a knot at the back of his neck, keeping the first tightly packed inside. He patted Jules-Ernest's cheek and rose.

"We could send the ransom note straight to Monsieur Gisquet's apartments," Montparnasse said as he ascended the stairs back to the light. "Or, we could just wait until tomorrow morning and send it along to the prefecture."

Jules-Ernest began to scream behind his gag, but it was easily muffled. Montparnasse smiled at his quarry and started to lower the trap door. "We'd planned on giving you a night alone to loosen you up, but it looks like you're willing to open your legs on the whim of a stranger anyway, so perhaps your stay with us won't be so lonely."

Jules-Ernest whimpered, the tears wetting the gag in his mouth until he could taste salt on his tongue through the soaked material.

"And who knows, we might even find you a nice friend to play with."

Montparnasse blew out the candle and left Jules-Ernest in the dark, slamming the trap door behind him.

"An Inspector perhaps."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gisquet loses another jewel from his jewellery box. 
> 
> (Get it? Jewel...Jules...He's losing Jules...I totally didn't put that pun in this chapter with a great deal of sincerity...)

_"He must come alone. If he brings with him the thirty-two thousand francs then they will take the money, if he comes empty handed then they will take the Inspector instead."_

"Well, that settles it then," Gisquet said. Letting out a deep sigh of relief he scrunched his face up in an expression of anguish and pressed two fingers to his temple. "We let them have Javert."

"Henri! Are you insane?" Chabouillet's fingers were still curled around Javert's arm, and now they gripped even tighter. His eyes had widened into a furious glare as he regarded the Prefect. "I will not put this man in danger."

Javert frowned and placed his own large hand on top of his patron's. With a great delicacy he set about prying Chabouillet's fingers and extracting them from his forearm, taking the skittish fingers into a clasp of his own, the large rough hand of an Inspector folded into the soft elegant palm of a politician.

"Monsieur, I assure you I can manage."

"I will not have it," Chabouillet said, voice still raised, though the edge was softening as Javert squeezed his hand. "Henri, you will hand over the money, Monsieur Nay will be returned to safety, and we will never have to consider this dark purpose again."

Gisquet dropped his fingers to his side and raised a weary head. "My dear Andre, I haven't got thirty-two thousand francs."

Javert's expression was grimly set, even as Chabouillet gripped tighter and left sharp white crescents in his skin. He could sense the anger in his patron, could feel the tremor of outrage that was welling up within him.

"You lying bastard." Chabouillet's voice was unexpectedly cool, but this quiet wrath only served to make him seem more dangerous. "I have perused every financial document that has been sullied by your repulsive name. You have the means."

"Dear Andre, you must understand that was before—"

"Don't you _dear Andre_ me. This is a man's life. The life of Monsieur Nay. If it was my own protegee I would be turning hell inside out attempting to get him back, and you have been offered his safe return on an albeit expensive plate, but a plate nonetheless. You have lapsed in your duty of care for the boy, and frankly I'm disappointed. So don't you dare _dear Andre_ me."

The silence in the room was palpable. Chabouillet had raised his voice loud enough that surely a passing clerk or resident carpenter must have heard the sudden outburst, and discretion in this matter was of the utmost importance. Yet, Chabouillet was himself a strong tide and anyone who dared to go against him was swiftly washed away. Gisquet seemed flimsy in his shadow.

"Hell inside out," Javert muttered into the silence, barely audible, a growl really. "Really Monsieur, I am grateful for your protection, but if the Prefect commands I service him this way—"

"Hold your tongue Javert. You answer to me and no one else."  
Javert did hold his tongue, for it was in his concern to obey the authority of Monsieur Chabouillet, his patron of decades. Yet the taste was bitter, for in doing so he was reneging on his duty to obey the authority of Monsieur Gisquet, higher in the hierarchical ranks of the police force. It caused him great discomfort, an oddly heavy weight on his chest, but he breathed slowly and pushed the thoughts as far down as they would go, to dull his wits in a paradox of thought would be most unhelpful.

"There must be another way," Gisquet said, avoiding Chabouillet's fiery gaze. "We could send Devaux. Confuse them as he steal Monsieur Nay back. Even in the light of day they are images of one another, in the dark, with a coat and hat..."

"Respectfully Monsieur," Javert spoke, his voice steady. "I could not in good conscience put another of your secretaries in danger."

Monsieur Devaux was still hovering anxiously by the door, his fists clenching and unclenching, his chest frozen as the breath within him stayed static. At Javert's words he exhaled noticeably and flashed Javert a small grateful smile. Javert ignored him.

"I have served many years as a police spy and would be more than capable of carrying out this task. Your untrained secretary is not. Perhaps from within their stronghold I would be better positioned to rescue Monsieur Nay and also bring these villains to justice."

Chabouillet slammed his cane down on the marble floor, the sharp smack of the metal tip on tile sending a reverberated crack around the room. "I told you to be quiet! There is to be no rescue. We hand over the money and they hand back Jules-Ernest, it is a simple plan, yet your greed prevents it. Is that not the case, Monsieur le Prefect?"

Gisquet swallowed and raised his eyes to meet Chabouillet. That glare settled the matter for certain, as did the meaningful drop of addressing him by first name. He could hold Chabouillet's gaze for a mere few seconds before he swallowed again and cast his eyes downwards.

"My finances are somewhat in disarray, ever since the...scandal I have found my sponsors making their excuses and exits and my investments have turned sporadic at best. I have some savings in the form of large notes, kept in the safe, it will have to do."

"It will do indeed." Chabouillet's stark fire turned swiftly to ice as he glared imperiously and curled his fingers round the cane, his other hand still firmly planted in Javert's own. "Did you not feel you could come to me, Henri? I would have helped."

Gisquet scratched nervously at the taffeta of his trouser leg and cleared his throat. "Considering the Prefects before me who have left this establishment yet you have always remained in their wake, I did not think it wise."  
"A fair observation, but you did not consider all the facts. I didn't like any of _them_."

"Messieurs," Javert interceded before either men could process the confession. "We are pressed for time."

"Indeed," Gisquet said, gesturing to Devaux. "Fetch the sum from my safe, you know where to find it."

Devaux bowed and quickly darted into the corridor leaving the thick atmosphere behind him. Chabouillet had calmed slightly, his fingers were gripping with less fervour and he was regarding Gisquet with less disgust. He gave Javert's hand a final squeeze before moving to the fireplace to stoke the coals, then he drew the chairs closer and invited the Inspector to sit and join them.

"There is much to discuss if we are to ensure the handover goes smoothly. Javert, tell me some of your successful experiences with kidnappers and negotiations. It will serve to ease my mind."

Javert recalled what he could and Chabouillet counselled him in return. The three men sat round the fire together, preparing for what must be done, Chabouillet speaking most and Gisquet hardly remarking on anything at all. Devaux returned with a canvas bag filled with crisply stamped bank notes. Gisquet regarded it with a wistful expression, suppressing it quickly as Chabouillet mentioned the possible states of distress and injury they might find Monsieur Nay in upon his return.

As six o'clock approached a light rain began to fall and they made their way to the back of the prefecture and into a waiting carriage. Gisquet grasped the bag of money, Javert grasped his hat, and Chabouillet grasped Javert. The window of the carriage was down, letting in a slight breeze and the smell of fresh wet rain on cobblestones, dancing amber lights reflecting off the street from the recently lit street lamps.

The journey was silent. Chabouillet tried and failed to make conversation, but Gisquet had returned to vapid staring and the rain pattered down the pane drowning out all thought. The wheels came to a halt on the turning just before Rue Sauval. There was a moment of stillness and complete quiet before Javert nodded to both Gisquet and Chabouillet and set his hat firmly on his head. He reached for the bag resting limply in Gisquet's hands, feeling the heavy weight of the material between his fingers, then ducked and stepped onto the street. He'd made it two paces before he heard an anguished cry of his name.

"Javert!" Half-breath, half-substance, wholly choked. Javert turned and he felt everything within him still as he looked upon the face of his patron, never before had he beheld such an expression of concern and fear. Chabouillet was cold as ice, but now it appeared that the frozen facade had melted, revealing a soft and trembling core.

Chabouillet leaned forward to grasp Javert's coat lapels and pull him closer. He stared him clear in the face and for a moment it looked like he might lean in to kiss his protegé.

"Be careful."

Javert nodded sombrely and Chabouillet sighed heavily, releasing his grip and brushing Javert's coat lapels down to straighten them again.

His boots were loud on the cobbles as he turned the corner into Rue Sauval. The buildings here were tall, their roofs shielded, and the windows were narrow or shuttered. There were no onlookers and no saviours. Javert waited, his heart oddly calm and steady, though his palms sweated as they thought of Chabouillet's hand pressed neatly into his.

It was the most efficient deliverance of a blow he'd ever had the pleasure to be knocked out by. Several footsteps followed by a quick professional pain on the back of his head, the easy darkness had been satisfactorily swift, and he fell unyielding into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

"What is it little one? Why are you crying?"

The cloth in Jules-Ernest's mouth was dark with wetness and the corners of his mouth looked red and rubbed raw. He whimpered as Montparnasse took his face in his hands and began to pat his cheek. At first glance the motions appeared soothing as Montparnasse stroked Jules-Ernest's tear-stained cheeks, but his fingers dug tight into his jaw and pressed against the hollow of his neck.

Montparnasse had brought a pewter mug down into the cellar with him, and he placed this down on the uneven floorboards. With one hand he deftly untied the knot at the back of Jules-Ernest's neck and pulled the gag from his mouth, discarding it on the floor some distance away.

He took the mug in one hand and held the back of Jules-Ernest's neck in the other, keeping him propped and steady as he poured water over his lips. Jules-Ernest spluttered and swallowed what he could of the liquid which tasted metallic and sharp. He coughed once Montparnasse had brought the stream away and placed the mug by his side, then resumed his stroking.

"Have we not provided enough entertainment? Is that it?" He pinched one of Jules-Ernest's cheeks then turned to carding his hand through his hair. "You are bored, I see that now, you need attention. You long to be played with."

"N-no Monsieur," Jules-Ernest spoke, his voice a gentle whisper. "Please let me go."

"You want me to let you go?"

Jules-Ernest raised two pitiful and watery eyes. Montparnasse looked just as handsome in the grim light of the basement, his features carved by dark shadows in angular lines across his cheekbones.

"Please, Monsieur."

"Well why didn't you say so? Of course, you must walk free."

Montparnasse took hold of the rope round Jules-Ernest's wrists and gave it a sharp tug. He forced Jules-Ernest to his knees, but kept pulling on the rope, drawing his wrists further up his back, forcing him to bend lest the tension become too much on his poor shoulders.

"Then again," Montparnasse said languidly. "It would be a shame to let you go when the fun is just about to start."

The floorboards seemed to split above them, in reality it was the trapdoor opening, but the noise of the struggle increased the sound tenfold. Javert was fighting for all his worth, his heels dug in as he thrashed wildly. Still dazed from the blow and flanked by three men, the fight was a futile one, but he could not in good faith go down without trying.

A vicious fling back of his head caught Claquesous, who was bringing up the rear, directly in the centre of his face. His nose cracked with a hideous crunch and then began to trickle with unseemly amounts of blood.

"Bastard!" Claquesous exclaimed, his hands thrust up to clutch his bleeding nose. He reached inside a pocket for a handkerchief and held it up, red blossoming quickly across the dull white. "Can't you hold him still?"

He gave Javert a kick in his lower back, sending him past the first step and causing him to collapse against Babet who was pulling from the front. Guelemer grabbed Javert's arm to prevent both of them falling, flanking him from the side, then slid his fist into the chain that bound his wrists. Javert felt the ignominy of being caught with his own manacles, but was also saving the knowledge that he knew the weak links and possible ways of twisting out of them for later. The bolt of the cuffs bit tight, his wrists already rubbed raw.

"Not my fault," Babet groaned, yanking on the makeshift noose that was looped round Javert's neck. "He would have stayed out longer if you'd just hit him harder. You've gone soft."

"I'll show you soft."

Montparnasse had eased on his own grip of Jules-Ernest as he watched the other members of his gang manhandle Javert into the basement. It was an out-numbered wrestling match with a Javert still dazed from a severe blow and so he could not fathom why it was so difficult for them.

He moved his grasp from the ropes at Jules-Ernest's elbows to the boy's forearm and guided him with a firm hand to the floor beside him, then positioned his head onto his thigh. Cradled thusly in his lap, he ensured Jules-Ernest had a clear view of proceedings, but was also subject to the rough hand stroking through his hair in a mockery of tenderness.

"Look Monsieur Nay, your knight in shining armour has arrived," Montparnasse whispered close into Jules-Ernest's ear, watching with smug satisfaction as Babet and Guelemer finally got Javert down the stairs. They fastened his manacles to a ring low on the wall forcing him to kneel. Claquesous leaned down in front of him, mopping away the last of the blood with his handkerchief before distastefully replacing it in his pocket. He pressed his fingers to the knot in the fabric that was passed between Javert's lips and nodded in satisfaction, then he patted Javert's cheek in a touch that was more of a slap.

"Forgive us Inspector," He said, wielding a smile that bared all his teeth. "You will realise soon enough that this was all necessary."

Javert jerked out of his grip, shouting something behind the thick cloth that stoppered his mouth.

"Tut tut Inspector, language. What would Monsieur Chabouillet think? We must ask him when he joins us."

At these words Javert renewed his struggles, the chains clinking behind his back, his shoulders straining as he tried to find some give. Montparnasse laughed at the sight, twirling his fingers through Jules-Ernest's curls.

"The little minnow has helped us catch the big fish, and we shall put the fish on the menu to entice the rich customer." He tapped Jules-Ernest on the nose. "You are the little minnow in case you did not realise."

Jules-Ernest had renewed his crying with vigour as he beheld the image of a man who could be his potential saviour brought low into the same predicament as he. Babet was currently tying Javert's ankles together before passing rope just above and below his knees to secure him further.

"Please, Monsieur Montparnasse," Jules-Ernest spoke between his sobs. "Do not hurt him."

Montparnasse laughed. "You hear that? He would beg for the Inspector's well-being. You should not play all your cards so early little one, it only makes it easier for me."

Montparnasse shifted Jules-Ernest from his lap and rose to his feet, brushing down the seat of his trousers. Jules-Ernest slipped to the floor, his fingers wriggling behind his back, and his neck suddenly weighing heavy on the noose that kept him bound to the beam. He coughed and wheezed, struggling to take a breath for several moments, until eventually Montparnasse took pity on him and knelt to ease up the knot.

"Would you like me to remove this?"

Jules-Ernest's eyes were watering now, and it was hard to tell whether the wetness on his cheeks was from this or the tears. His eyes and cheeks were red. He pressed his lips together in a thin stubborn line and refused to speak.

"It is not a trick this time," Montparnasse said, cocking his head. "If it is distressing you so much I can remove it."

Jules-Ernest rolled his bottom lip between his teeth and then nodded. In an instant Montparnasse brought his hands to the rope at the beam and undid the knot, letting it fall to the floor. He still held the end as he knelt beside Jules-Ernest.

"Of course, now we will have to find another place for it."

Jules-Ernest let out a cry of despair and attempted to wriggle as far away from Montparnasse as possible, but Montparnasse had the upper hand. He took Jules-Ernest around the waist and turned him onto his front, then slipped the rope under his wrists and secured it in a tight knot. The other end he pulled towards Jules-Ernest's ankles and quickly tied them together leaving Jules-Ernest trussed up like a pig on its way to market.

He took hold of the length of rope that joined wrists to ankles and pulled, dragging Jules-Ernest painfully across the floor and towards Javert. He let go and gave another shove with his foot, ensuring that they were close together before dusting off his hands and climbing the basement stairs.

"They can keep each other company for now. Come, we have much to prepare. Leave them a candle."

Babet and Guelemer followed him out into the light as Claquesous struck a match and forced a candle into one of the wall brackets. He paused before following his gang mates, admiring the sight of the Inspector caught and bound and Gisquet's precious pet wriggling at his feet.

"Claquesous! When you're ready!" Montparnasse called through the trapdoor with impatience.

Claquesous regarded Javert with narrowed eyes then shrugged. "Forgive me Inspector, but I must even the score." With these brief words he raised a fist and punched Javert squarely in the face, smiling in triumph at the crunch. He didn't wait to see if there would be the satisfaction of blood, and it didn't even matter if Javert's nose was even broken, there was simply pleasure to be had in dealing a blow to the man who had caused him so much trouble as he lay helpless.

Javert blinked back the pain, the cloth in his mouth threatened to choke him as he tried to retch and cough. His face felt hot, pain blossoming across his cheeks, but he tried his best to ignore it, focusing instead on his surroundings.

There was darkness before his eyes, the candle barely cast any suitable light from its position set in the stone wall. He felt dampness beneath his fingertips and even more pain spreading from the skin in his wrists.

Javert felt bruised. He was certain his unconscious body had undergone all manner of kicks and punches, and then more once he woke. All sound echoed loudly round the small basement room, every movement amplified, which only served to make the sobbing from beside him even more grating.

Javert waited until he was sure it had been at least an hour and Jules-Ernest still hadn't managed to rid himself of all the tears in his body.

The sobs came in waves. Occasionally they were loud wails, then they'd diminish to soft whimpers, sometimes Javert could only make out pitiful sniffs, then the desperate sobbing began again.

He wanted to call out to Monsieur Nay, if only to make him aware of his presence, but his mouth was stopped with several layers of rags. It was infuriating to the hilt, but Javert was a patient man and he would wait for further developments. If only Jules-Ernest wasn't quite so pitiful in his misery. Then again, Javert had experience with rough handling and heavy blows from all manner of assailants, whilst Jules-Ernest was somewhat delicate in his sensibilities and was only used to the touch of political men. He shuddered to think what they had already subjected him to.

Jules-Ernest had moved continuously in all this time, a fervent and futile struggle. Javert could see a nasty red around the pale skin of his wrists and a similar line rubbed into his neck. Javert felt his own fists clench in anger and outrage that these despicable fiends had treated Monsieur Nay with such disrespect. He did not like the man, but that did not prevent him from feeling intense horror on his behalf that Montparnasse especially had such a disregard for human life.

Suddenly the sobs came to an end with a swift gasp and a noise of disbelief, and then came a further wave of renewed sobs, this time twinged with relief. Jules-Ernest lay still for a few moments, and Javert was grateful that he had stopped struggling, then he let his ankles fall away from his wrists. The ropes fell from them and thumped to the floor as Jules-Ernest stretched himself out fully flat against the boards, working life and blood back into his ankles and shins.

 _Well then!_ Javert thought, an eyebrow raised in surprise. _The boy wasn't as useless as he seemed._

Jules-Ernest's wrists were still tightly bound, but at least he could kneel up and face Javert. There was fear in his expression, but also shame, and Javert did his best part to look him only in the face and not at the rest of his naked body.

"Monsieur Javert, please accept my apologies," Jules-Ernest whispered. He shuffled forward on his knees and turned, laying a head on Javert's shoulder and leaning back against his chest. "This is all my fault."

Javert, not knowing the details of Jules-Ernest's capture, would have protested this statement if he could. In his mind, the blame fell firmly on Patron Minette and no one else.

Jules-Ernest tilted his head to look up at Javert, his eyes widening and sliding across it, no doubt taking in the sight of bruises and blood. He squeezed his eyes tight shut again and pressed his back further into Javert, finding comfort in the heavy wool of his coat. He shivered, a cool draft was blowing gently through the basement, and he had now been deprived of his clothes for the best part of a day. Javert tried his best to accommodate him, drawing his bound knees up so that Jules-Ernest could slide comfortably into the crook he created there.

Jules-Ernest sobbed against him for a few minutes before he turned and worked himself up onto his knees. From this position his was roughly the same height as Javert was when sitting down. He leaned forward, tripping at first and steadying himself against Javert's shoulder, then lifting his chin. Javert felt their cheeks brush together and frowned, but did not move away. If Jules-Ernest desired comfort then he would do his best. Yet, Jules-Ernest was not drawing away nor was he moving in a way which suggested he was looking for touch. Instead his cheek kept close to Javert's for several minutes until Javert felt the pressure at the back of his neck lift and Jules-Ernest pulled back with the gag firmly clasped between his teeth. He spat it out onto the floor and worked his jaw, freeing it of the ache he was now feeling after several minutes worth of work.

For the second time that evening, Javert was left with the marvel that was Jules-Ernest, presented with evidence that perhaps he was not so vapid as first glance decreed. He worked his own jaw and pressed his tongue into the corners of his mouth, feeling where the gag had sharply bitten. He tried to speak, coughed for a few moments, and then tried again.

"Monsieur Nay, I am sorry to discover you in this state of affairs, but rest assured the entire Prefecture is working on your safe return."

Jules-Ernest cried out and flung himself down upon Javert's chest. Normally Javert would have been alarmed at this display lacking in propriety, but now he let it happen and felt himself overcome with pity. He had endured such situations before, at the hands of less nefarious criminals, but criminals nonetheless. He could take the kicks and punches until the police mobilised themselves into a suitable rescue, they were nothing to him, he could bare that and more, but Jules-Ernest could not. It was not fair on him.

"Come on, Monsieur Nay," Javert said, shifting uncomfortably. "Pull yourself together. Would you want Monsieur Gisquet to see you like this?"

"N-no, Monsieur Javert." Jules-Ernest sniffed and turned his face up. "You say he is looking for me?"

"Him and Monsieur Chabouillet both."

"Then we will surely be found." Jules-Ernest was a small man, the kind that fit neatly onto the laps of taller men, but somehow he had diminished even further. "Even if Monsieur Gisquet gives up on me, Monsieur Chabouillet will stop at nothing with you here."

Javert opened his mouth to speak, but he could not make a sound. A small part of him dared to hope that such a statement were true and that he could easily affirm Jules-Ernest's words. He looked down at Jules-Ernest's hopeful face and knew that he could not disappoint him.

"He will turn hell inside out."

Jules-Ernest nodded and pressed himself close to Javert. He was still shaking, the action minuscule, but there was little other movement in the small basement room that Jules-Ernest's shivering seemed amplified.

"A pretty picture indeed."

Jules-Ernest suddenly went quiet, the sobs wracked from him by fear and lethargy. Javert turned with a similar weariness to face the top of the stairs where Montparnasse was standing, the candlelight flickering across his sharp features. In one hand he carried the same canvas bag that Javert had brought with him and in the other a slim knife that glistened in bright amber shades.

"Forgive me for interrupting."

He descended the stairs with a slow formality, each movement calculated and precise, as the judge makes his way to the chamber. He dragged a low wooden chair across the floor until it was facing the captive pair. Montparnasse tossed the bag at his feet and then sat down, flicking the knife in between his fingers and tapping the blade thoughtfully.

"Thirty-two thousand francs," He said slowly.

"It is all there," Javert replied hoarsely, licking his lips.

"Yes, I know. We just finished counting." Montparnasse laughed. It was a cold sound, hollow and disturbing. "We did not think the prefect's pockets were so deep, perhaps we should have asked for more. He still has another little pet on the loose, no? Maybe he could be another lucrative business investment."

"I do not know what you mean."

"You do not have to act the fool, Inspector." Montparnasse smiled and began to clean his nails with the sharp point. "We have been watching and we know what you all are. I had the pleasure of having it all confirmed by Monsieur Nay there, and he didn't even have to say a word."

Javert clamped his mouth shut lest he incriminate them any further, but internally he was seething. Sure that such rage would appear in his face and voice he took a moment to breathe and calm himself, all while Montparnasse casually flicked the knife between his fingers. "No one can avoid the weight of the law. Not even you."

"We shall see."

"You requested money in exchange for Monsieur Nay and we have upheld our end of the deal. Prove yourself an honest man and uphold yours."

Montparnasse laughed. "You do me wrong if you think for one moment that I am honest. We do not negotiate with the police, and they do not normally negotiate with us. I wonder how the rest of the force would react were they to hear that the prefect had succumbed to a ransom demand. No, I will save you all that trouble, and simply not follow through."

"Then have the decency to let the boy cover himself. If not for modesty then for the sake of his health, clearly he is freezing."

Montparnasse tilted his head to one side. "I do not remember you being so noble, Inspector, but I shall indulge you."

With the stealth of a panther, Montparnasse leaped from the chair and knelt before Javert, the knife clasped in one hand. He turned it so he was holding it in his fist, raised for the strike and Javert stared back with as much of his dignity as he could muster. He would always face a weapon eye to eye. Instead, Montparnasse drew the knife between Javert's legs and swiped it across the ropes surrounding his knees and ankles. The knots slipped away and Javert took the opportunity to stretch some life back into them. Then Montparnasse yanked at his shoulder, turning him, and with blood rushing to his legs Javert had no leverage to protest. With a smooth and swift motion Montparnasse turned the key of the manacles, but did not remove them completely, and grabbed Jules-Ernest by the throat and pulled him up and back towards him. Before Javert could turn back round and shake himself free of the cuffs, the knife had been raised to Jules-Ernest's throat and Montparnasse's other arm circled him in a deathly strong grip.

"One wrong move," He warned steadily. "I will not hesitate."

"There is no need for this violence," Javert said, pressing his fingers into the bruises left behind by the cuffs. They were not as deep as he was expecting. "Let him go and I will comply."

"Not a compelling argument I'm afraid, Inspector." Montparnasse pressed the knife closer into Jules-Ernest's throat, a crease visible, the blade on the cusp of breaking skin. "You do not call the shots here."

Jules-Ernest gasped, his hands coming up to grip Montparnasse's forearm, but Montparnasse was a great deal taller than Jules-Ernest and had him tilted beneath him, his back arched. The angle made it near impossible to gain purchase.

"This is unnecessary, you do not have to do this." Javert had risen to his knees and was holding his hands out to reason.

"But you asked me to." Montparnasse smiled with all his teeth. "Or have you forgotten so quickly? You wished for him to be warm and I am letting you have that wish. You may start by removing your coat."

Javert frowned and did not move. Montparnasse responded to this lack of action by forcing Jules-Ernest's neck back further, the knife pressing in tighter still. "It would be wise not to hesitate. Your coat, Inspector, if you please."

Javert's response was mostly to Jules-Ernest's sudden shriek of pain. He reached for the buttons of his coat and hastened to undo them, shirking the coat off and throwing it towards Montparnasse.

"There, now let him put it on."

Montparnasse kicked the coat away with his foot, all while maintaining his grip on Jules-Ernest's neck. "Very good Inspector. Now the waistcoat please."

"Let him put on my coat first"

Jules-Ernest's shriek was unbearably loud in the small room and Javert watched in horror as a small trickle of blood began to slide down his pale skin. It was just a small nick from the blade, just above the boy's collar bone, but it was sudden and sharp and it had shocked Jules-Ernest into letting out a fierce scream. Javert quickly scrambled to remove his waistcoat and tossed that too over to Montparnasse's feet.

"We are learning so quickly Inspector. As you can see, all your actions have consequences. We have run a merry little rat race together, and I have learned that you are not so easily threatened, but to protect the life of an innocent, well, isn't that what you have sworn your soul to?" Montparnasse pressed his thumb into the freshly made cut, relishing in the intake of breath Jules-Ernest made behind clenched teeth. There were fresh tears in his eyes and he glanced at Javert with a desperate fervour. "Shirt, cravat, boots." Montparnasse made quick and simple demands, and Javert followed them without his previous hesitation.

His suspicions were roused now, for surely if Montparnasse's intentions were to allow Jules-Ernest warmth then he would have passed off the coat, and Montparnasse played a swift and sharp game not a long and calculated one. No, there would be a price, and he was sure he had worked it out. For Jules-Ernest to be granted warmth there needed to be a balancing of the scales, and he must forfeit his own heat. He was a sturdy man and had taken many cold winters on his chin, endless nights in Montreuil sur Mer when it would have been convenient to add wood to a small fire, but wood was costly and comfort was expensive. He had endured as he would endure now.

He slipped the cravat from his neck and pulled his shirt over his head, then quickly unlaced his boots. The longer he took the longer Jules-Ernest suffered in Montparnasse's grip. After handing over these next items of clothing he looked up expectantly, prepared for his modesty to be the next victim.

But Montparnasse did not make any demands for his trousers. Instead, he pressed a hand to the small of Jules-Ernest's back and shoved him back towards Javert, ensuring that he tripped and landed on him in an unseemly heap. Before either could move, his arm had reached behind his back and grasped the handle of a pistol that was safely stowed in his waistband. He aimed it first at Javert, then pointedly moved it towards Jules-Ernest and cocked it.

"I think you know where my shot will fall," Montparnasse said, his cold glare focused on Jules-Ernest, but his words clearly directed towards Javert. "There will be consequences if you try anything. Now, I am a benevolent man, let me help you."

Javert resisted a snort, he was in far too dangerous circumstances to risk such a thing. Had it just been the two of them he would have felt safer, especially when facing down the barrel of a gun, but with Jules-Ernest as potential collateral damage he needed to be more careful.

"Monsieur Nay is cold. Make him warm, Inspector Javert."

Javert took hold of Jules-Ernest's upper arms and pulled him over his knee, resting him there whilst he untied his hands. The rope he laid down next to him, thinking that it might be of some use in some sort of escape attempt. Then he helped Jules-Ernest sit up and waited for him to wring some blood back into his wrists.

Javert eyed the small cut along Jules-Ernest's collar bone with a grim expression, his eyes narrowed. It was small and harmless, but it was the principle of the thing. He had not expected much honour from Montparnasse, but he had wrongly assumed the man would not harm them for the sake of it and without provocation. Even so, it had been Javert who had caused Montparnasse to slip his knife along Jules-Ernest's skin.

Javert picked up his cravat, a black silk that had been an expensive gift from his patron, and folded it into a neat wedge. He brought a corner up to the cut and cleaned away the worst of the blood. Jules-Ernest whimpered and clung to Javert's shoulders with small shaking hands.

"This is tedious to watch," Montparnasse said, his finger stroking delicately over the trigger. "Make haste."

Javert threw him a vicious glare. "I would not have to do this if you had not hurt him."

Montparnasse raised his eyebrows and steadied the gun in his hand. Jules-Ernest's eyes snapped between Javert and Montparnasse and the hand that held the pistol, then they squeezed tight shut. "Please Monsieur Javert," He spoke softly. "Please do not provoke him. He will kill us and I do not doubt it."

Javert was out of his depth, he was not used to comforting, neither in words nor actions. He scrunched up the cravat and deposited it next to him, noting that the small amount of blood had stopped flowing and the small cut would surely heal soon enough. Although in the damp basement it would be subject to infection. He would consider requesting bandages and water once this part of their ordeal was over.

He rested a firm hand on Jules-Ernest's shoulder and bid him look him in the eye with that steady touch. "Come now. You have suffered greater pain than this."

The expression on Jules-Ernest's face was of utter misery and despair, his eyes watery and cheeks red. "I had the power to make it stop then, I can endure far more when I have the power to make it stop."

Javert had not considered before that Jules-Ernest, or any of Gisquet's favourites, had any force of sway in their proceedings. He certainly would never deign it appropriate to beg for mercy from Chabouillet, and the idea that those beneath could wield control of those above in any physical sense defied too much of what Javert was used to. However, Jules-Ernest had now twice defied his opinion that the boy was useless, it turned out he was not so weak at all.

Montparnasse clicked his tongue with impatience. "I told you to make him warm."

Javert scowled and brought a large hand to rest against Jules-Ernest's back, then pulled him close in an embrace. It was an odd sensation, bare skin touching in the dim light, Jules-Ernest shivering beneath him. He held him like that for a few moments.

"Oh very touching indeed," Montparnasse scoffed. "Although not correct in the slightest."

Javert's grip tightened, he felt a greater sense of protection now. "What would you have me do?" He asked, nervous at the thought of a reply.

"You could start by slapping him."

Javert felt the words like a slap himself, the room seemed to decrease in size and he felt Jules-Ernest melt like wax in his grip.

"He has been most impertinent these hours we have spent together," Montparnasse continued. "It is well overdue, and it would bring some much needed heat to his cheeks."

"I could not do such a thing," Javert growled, and he pressed a careful palm into Jules-Ernest's back to convince him of this. "I will not deliver your punishments."

The pistol clicked in Montparnasse's hand as he rose it, aiming directly at Jules-Ernest. He took a step forward to confirm his action. "It would not be a pretty sight," He warned, voice low. "I am sure there are pains he would prefer to this."

Jules-Ernest whipped his head round at the sound of the pistol's creak. He eyed it cautiously at first. "Monsieur Javert, you should do as he says."

"At least the whore has some sense." Montparnasse's smile glistened in what little light the candle provided, his cheeks hollow in the flickering glow. "We don't need him anymore, not now we have you, he has served his purpose. If he continues to be entertaining he will be much safer."

Javert drew Jules-Ernest back to arms length and passed a generous glance over him. It was not appropriate in any realm and the thought of following Montparnasse's orders repulsed him. Yet Jules-Ernest's stare was so piercingly desperate.

"Go on," Montparnasse goaded. "Surely he has been just as much an irritation in the Prefecture as he has been here. Why don't you let some of that out?"

Javert tentatively raised a hand, but his fingers were limp and curled against his palm.

"Please Monsieur Javert."

"Or I could just shoot him."

"Please—!"

Javert did not swing hard, his arm felt too weak for that, and there was no intention behind it. But the slap still echoed loudly in the small room. Jules-Ernest let out a cry more from the shock than the pain and then let his head hang, his chin touching his chest. Javert quickly lowered his arm and took hold of Jules-Ernest's shoulders.

"Monsieur Nay! Please forgive me, listen to me, listen to my voice only, I promise you will be safe. Whatever I must do, I will make sure you are safe."

He waited until Jules-Ernest gave the smallest of nods, then he turned to Montparnasse, his expression switching from concern to fury in an instant. "Are you satisfied?"

"Not in the slightest. Tie his wrists again."

Javert let out a harsh breath, then picked up the rope with shaking fingers. He took Jules-Ernest's hands in his own, his fingers running over the red marks from his previous entrapment which filled him with trepidation. It always hurt more the second time. Like blisters, barely noticeable as they are formed, but apply friction afterwards and it is agony.

He wrapped the rope over Jules-Ernest's wrists with intense rue, ensuring that he did not pull tight and that the strain and pressure of the coarse rope fell away from the worst of the bruises. Jules-Ernest's breath hitched a few times, but mostly he was still and quiet. He swayed a little on his knees and Javert thought he might have to catch him if he fainted. When the boy's eyes slid shut Javert shook his shoulder. "He will make me hurt you, I am sure of it," He muttered for Jules-Ernest's ears only. "Know that I will be as gentle as I can be and I will ensure your safety."

Jules-Ernest nodded. "I understand Monsieur Javert, do what you must do."

Javert thought it would have been better if he had screamed and cried and protested. The quiet resignation only served to intensify his guilt, especially now that Jules-Ernest had confessed that the power of mercy had made him feel safe before.

"Hurry up." Montparnasse's cold voice cut through the air and Javert pulled away. "Now Inspector, why don't you turn that hand of yours to something more sensitive."

Javert found his palm running down Jules-Ernest's pale arm and resting above the knot that held his wrists together. He hoped that the gesture would be soothing in some way. Montparnasse twisted the tip of the knife over his fingertips and regarded the display.

"I'm sure he fits well in your lap," He said, shark-like grin widening. "He deserves chastisement like a child, you and I both know it is overdue. Now, quickly, if you please."

Javert flashed Montparnasse a dangerous look, but he did as he was told, taking Jules-Ernest in his strong hands and turning him so he was lying face down across his lap. Jules-Ernest looked so vulnerable beneath him, pale as a ghost, the only blemishes being the red line that ran across the nape of his neck and the friction at his wrists. Javert rested his hand over the delicate curve of Jules-Ernest's thighs, skin that had been touched and even whipped before at the hands of the Prefect, and yet it always managed to heal and return to smooth marble with only the faintest dusting of light blonde hair.

"Do not try my patience," Montparnasse warned into the dark. Javert raised his hand and brought it down with a loud smack across Jules-Ernest's arse, then again several times in quick succession. Jules-Ernest jerked beneath him on the first stroke, a whine of pain escaping his lips. He relaxed a little into the harsh rhythm, even though each slap sent a stinging pain through him that urged him to squirm away. After no more or less than ten strokes, Javert retracted his hand. He had a desire to rest it once more over the sore red mark in the shape of that mighty hand, but he knew from experience the pain of pressing the palm to the area of the spanking too soon.

"You think that has satisfied me?" Montparnasse laughed and Javert recoiled at the sound. Jules-Ernest had more tears running down his cheeks, his bottom lip was held between his teeth as he worried it, and his face had blushed red from humiliation. "Not even close Inspector."

Javert glanced down at Jules-Ernest. His arse contained the evidence of a vicious spanking, but his thighs were smooth and clean, and so with a resigned sigh he turned his attention to those. Javert could have encompassed one of Jules-Ernest's thighs in a single palm, and his strike was full of strength despite his attempts at a little ease. Should Montparnasse not hear an audible slap he would surely not be pleased.

Javert brought his palm down flat against Jules-Ernest's right thigh and blocked his mind to the squeal that it produced. He was aware of Jules-Ernest shivering beneath him, flushed in humiliation and shaking from the sharp pain, and he was also aware of the sudden hardness that had begun to dig into his thigh. Montparnasse could not be aware at this point, and so Javert would spare Jules-Ernest this further embarrassment by keeping him turned over his knee for as long as it took.

This proved to be a difficult task, as for every slap that Javert delivered with his usual force, Jules-Ernest only seemed to harden in his lap. Indeed, as Javert paused between strokes for a brief moment he was sure he heard Jules-Ernest release a moan at the sudden separation.

"You may stop," Montparnasse commanded, allowing Javert's arm a reprieve. He dropped it, allowing it to come to rest over Jules-Ernest's lower back, and he was surprised when he saw the boy arch into the touch of his palm.

"Monsieur Nay, are you alright? I hope I have not hurt you so badly."

Jules-Ernest whimpered something incomprehensible, lost to the floor, and Javert patted the boy's back in response. He could still feel the press of hardness against his thigh, but put this up to the shock of the situation and nothing more. He began to stroke his thumb in small reassuring circles.

They were not granted long in this position. Within the minute Montparnasse stepped forward with his pistol raised and reached for the tail end of the rope that bound Jules-Ernest's hands. He yanked hard, pulling him up by the wrists, not caring that Jules-Ernest could not find his balance as he was dragged unceremoniously across the room. Montparnasse threw the tail end over a low hanging beam and pulled down on the other side, watching Jules-Ernest rise up onto his toes to take the sudden strain, his naked body stretched taut in a way that offered no hiding.

Javert felt his own hands follow Jules-Ernest, outstretched towards him even as Montparnasse pulled him away, until he rested back on his haunches. As the colour drained from Javert's face, Jules-Ernest's cheeks only flushed with more. Montparnasse finished tying off the rope, then ran a hand down Jules-Ernest's back, his waist, his hips, coming round the front to face him. The pistol was still poised in one hand and his eyes darted occasionally to Javert, but much of his attention was drawn to Jules-Ernest. His eyes slipped down the naked body, coming to rest on the weeping cock that stood between Jules-Ernest's thighs. His expression rose and gained a defiant sense of smug satisfaction.

"It is better than I dared hoped." Montparnasse tapped Jules-Ernest on the nose who winced in shame. "You are far too easy little one."

He reached between Jules-Ernest's legs and gripped the base of his cock, coaxing further hardness into it now that separation from Javert had driven it down. He pulled a few strokes with a loose fist, drawing Jules-Ernest towards him as he swayed from the beam.

"You should do something about this, Inspector. You did cause it after all."

Montparnasse took a step back and stood beside Jules-Ernest, raising the pistol until it connected with one of Jules-Ernest's temples. He held it there for a few moments with a languid smile, poking Jules-Ernest in the ribs with his other hand, then he turned back to Javert. "The quicker the better."

Javert placed a hand on his knee and made to stand, but Montparnasse swiftly turned the gun on him. "Your knees will suffice."

Javert closed his eyes and took a quick deep breath, then focused his attentions on Jules-Ernest. He felt most undignified shuffling towards him on his knees, coming to stop in front of the toes that danced to take away the strain. He raised a clumsy hand and began to stroke Jules-Ernest's cock with a renewed vigour.

"No," Montparnasse said with a snort. "Not that, of course not that. Use your mouth Inspector."

Javert hesitated, then saw Montparnasse raise the gun in his periphery. He moved forward with urgency, pressing his lips to the tip of Jules-Ernest's cock and then opening his mouth further to slip down his length. He let his jaw go slack as he closed his mouth around Jules-Ernest, swallowing several times, coaxing a noticeable shudder from the boy. This was an act he was used to, but the sensation was unfamiliar. Jules-Ernest was smaller than Chabouillet, much easier to take down to the hilt, he smelled faintly of rose water, and as Javert pushed down onto the length he found he could not bury his nose in a nest of coarse hair, but rather a bed of soft and delicate curls. It was enough to keep him focused.

He ran his tongue down the underside of Jules-Ernest's length, an action he knew Chabouillet enjoyed and tensed at, and he felt a similar wave of pleasure run through Jules-Ernest. The boy could not be comfortable, stretched out with his arms above him as he was, so Javert strove to act quickly, using the best of his tricks. He pulled back, swirled his tongue just over the very tip, barely touching in a teasing motion, before plunging down fully again. The cool breeze that clung to Jules-Ernest's cock, accompanied by the sudden wet warmth had him bucking unbearably into Javert's mouth. The motion caught the back of Javert's throat and he struggled not to cough, his eyes watering, but otherwise Jules-Ernest was more than manageable.

He kept his eyes closed so as to not see Montparnasse running his hands all over the boy's naked body without a single care, acting as if he owned Jules-Ernest's bare skin, every touch purposeful and possessive.

"Tell me when you are close little one."

Montparnasse's voice seemed distorted as Javert focused on nothing else but Jules-Ernest's cock, sucking and swallowing, feeling the fluttering pulse of a vein pressed against his tongue. He reached a hand to clutch at Jules-Ernest's calf, steadying himself. All the while Jules-Ernest let out a throng of pitiful moans, his position not allowing him leverage to thrust or steal away from Montparnasse's invasive touches.

"Remember to tell me," Montparnasse said. "I will be angry if you do not."

"I-I-...I am close Monsieur."

"Tell me at the precise moment."  
Jules-Ernest bit his lip and nodded, his own eyes scrunched up in concentration. Montparnasse pressed a palm against his waist and squeezed. Javert slid his tongue with remarkable dexterity in a languid circle around the head of Jules-Ernest's cock, and then he slid down his length with a great slowness. Jules-Ernest let out an anguished cry and bucked his hips.

"Now?" Montparnasse prompted Jules-Ernest for an answer. Jules-Ernest could not speak, he simply nodded, but this was enough for Montparnasse.

Javert felt a hand close into a fist around his hair and yank him backwards. He almost stumbled, but the hand held him steady as his lips went slack and his jaw loosened. He opened his eyes to see Montparnasse, his hand gripping him tight, pulled to rest just in front of Jules-Ernest's cock. Javert closed his eyes just in time as Jules-Ernest tipped over the edge and came over his face, warm wetness hitting his cheeks and eyelids and lips. Jules-Ernest let out a sorrowful whimper, having reached his climax just as all touch was denied him. The result could not have been particularly satisfying for him, a stolen orgasm pulled from him and then abandoned at the last moment.

Javert with his eyes closed could not defend himself as Montparnasse kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him back to the corner of the basement. He stumbled and landed on top of the manacles that had held him previously, the clinking forming a loud echo in the suddenly silent room.

"I am satisfied," Montparnasse said softly, untying the knot that held Jules-Ernest to the beam. "For now."

He let Jules-Ernest collapse to the floor, then gave him a suitably harsh kick to the ribs. "Crawl back to your protector," He sneered. "Into his arms." Montparnasse watched with amusement as Jules-Ernest crawled on shaking legs with his wrists still tied together. Javert finished wiping his mouth then held his hands out and pulled Jules-Ernest the rest of the way into his lap. He turned to Montparnasse with a scowl.

"If you have any morals left you will let him have the coat now."

Montparnasse glanced at the greatcoat that Javert had tossed him earlier and considered for a moment. "Fair is fair, I suppose he has earned it." He threw it towards the pair and watched as Javert drew it over them both, making sure that Jules-Ernest was completely covered. "Now, those manacles Inspector. I trust you know how to use them."

"His hands are already tied!" Javert exclaimed in despair. He arms pulled Jules-Ernest closer to him and he rested a hand in the small of his back. "He is too weak to think of escape, when was the last time you fed him? He needs water and something to clean the wound, a bandage to cover it."

Montparnasse raised his eyes heavenward. "Admirable as your prison reform attempts are, must I remind you that we are hardly a government facility. I will see to it when I think he needs it. Now, stop this distraction, the manacles around your wrists please."

Javert took the manacles in his hands and regarded them wearily. He closed one about his left wrist then brought it together with his right.

"Behind your back."

"This will not last," Javert said heavily, feeling along the links behind his back as he closed the right manacle about his wrist. "Justice always prevails."

"So you say."

Javert leaned back against the wall and Jules-Ernest shifted so that his head was resting against the Inspector's chest and his knees drawn up beneath him. His bound hands rested beside him. "Thank you Monsieur Javert," He murmured. "For being gentle."

Montparnasse was about to turn to the stairs when the trapdoor opened from above and a scuffling sound could be heard. A great struggle was happening above them and Javert raised his head to see Babet's boots descending into the darkness. Jules-Ernest pricked up at the sound, his face turning hopefully to the light. "We are rescued," He whispered. "Monsieur Chabouillet has come for us both."

Babet tripped down several stairs and swore as he smashed into the stone wall. The deterrence did not last long, he was back up the stairs and pulling again soon enough. The man he pulled down the stairs was bundled in rope, cloth tied hastily across his mouth, eyes wide in nervous fear. Claquesous was again pushing from above.

"This one is half the size of the Inspector," Claquesous called down to Babet. "And yet it is this one that manages to shove you down the stairs."

Babet scowled and hooked his hand in the knot of the gag to get more leverage to pull. "He caught me by surprise."

"No doubt."

The knot of the gag had been tied in haste, and the pressure of Babet's hand tugged at the material until the knot slipped away. The gag was spat out, an intense fit of coughing followed, and then a small voice that could easily be heard by Javert.

"Monsieur Javert! I am so sorry! I have been so foolish!"

Babet clapped him about the ear to shut him up, finally managing to get him down the stairs. Montparnasse had been watching proceedings with a furrowed brow. "What is this? We do not need the second one, this was not part of the plan."

Jules-Nabon Devaux winced painfully as he was flung down into the corner beside Javert and Jules-Ernest, his knees scraping painfully on the stone floor. He turned to Javert, tears in his eyes. "Please forgive me!"

"Monsieur Devaux, what have you done?"

But Jules-Nabon could only weep in terror and shame as Babet and Claquesous ensured he was tied securely. To Jules-Nabon's fortune they left him without the gag.

"We caught him wandering in the street," Claquesous explained, mopping his brow and looking at Jules-Nabon curiously.

"Could you not have left him there? It is unlikely he would have found the entrance."

"We did not want to risk it. Why are you complaining Montparnasse? You have another plaything, and this could mean more money from Gisquet."

Montparnasse snorted. "Money from Gisquet? Those thousand francs are a pittance to what we will receive if the next phase goes well."

Javert felt an extreme sense of unease as Babet, Montparnasse, and Claquesous all turned their gazes towards him. They stared at him for a few moments before Montparnasse shook his head. "Let our new arrival settle and then we shall return to set it in motion."

"I am surprised at your patience," Babet said with a smirk. He was eyeing as much of Jules-Ernest as he could, tucked under Javert's coat as he was.

"If we draw it out long enough he will be desperate, desperate enough to come himself and not send officers in his stead. And we need him in person if this is to work."

Jules-Nabon was inching his way towards Javert with slow deliberate movements. He felt too vulnerable left alone by himself on the cold stone floor. He reached Javert's side and leaned into the crook of his elbow, finding a way to cradle himself between Javert's chest and the way his arm curled behind his back to the manacles. "Who is _he_? Who are they talking about?"

"Monsieur Chabouillet," Javert said aloud to the room. "That is who you mean, is it not?"

Montparnasse smiled with the whites of his teeth and gestured for his companions to head back up the stairs. "Who else?"

"Then you may as well give up," Javert said proudly, his back as straight as he could make it and his chin raised. "I would rather die than let you get your hands on him."

"I believe you. But you would not let them die now would you?" He glanced slowly at Jules-Nabon and then at Jules-Ernest. "If you value their lives then you will help us, and when this is over you shall find that no one needed to die."

He stole away up the stairs with a lithe quickness before Javert could respond, the trapdoor slamming shut with a loud thud. Javert rested his chin and closed his eyes in thought. Jules-Nabon was still quivering on his left and Jules-Ernest who had risen his head with such hope had fallen again upon Javert's chest.

"Monsieur Nay?" Jules-Nabon whispered into the darkness. "Ernest? Are you alright?"

"He is fine," Javert answered for him, shifting so that Jules-Ernest might be comfortable on his lap. "He has been here a full day and night now, I expect he wants his rest."

"I am sorry Monsieur Javert, it is entirely my fault that I am here."

"How so?"

"I was concerned for your safety, after what Monsieur Gisquet said I feared that he might try and hand you over and keep the money. I wanted to be sure that he would not. I should have trusted that with Monsieur Chabouillet present he could never have tried such a thing."

Javert opened his eyes now and tilted his head back. His gaze ran down the beams that held the small basement together. "You followed?"

"I did, but I was much slower. I did not reach the drop off point until long after six and you had gone. I waited, and watched as Monsieur Chabouillet searched for you, and then after an hour or so he got back in the carriage with Monsieur Gisquet and they must have ridden back to the Prefecture. I was about to follow them when...well..." He trailed off and tried to gesture to himself, but his hands were tightly tied and prevented much movement. "You must think I am a fool."

"No," Javert said quietly. "You did a foolish thing, but you are not a fool."

He allowed Jules-Nabon to sink further into his side and listened patiently as prior sniffs and watery eyes turned into a torrent of desperate sobs. Jules-Ernest had fallen into a quiet sleep in his lap, but Jules-Nabon's loud cries did not seem to disturb him, _the poor boy must be completely exhausted_ , Javert thought. Only Javert managed to remain stoic, his mind full of thoughts of Chabouillet; Chabouillet searching for him, Chabouillet driven to desperation, Chabouillet rescuing him, Chabouillet comforting him and him alone as Gisquet came for his Jules' and placed them delicately back in his jewellery box for safekeeping.

 

* * *

 

 

"You know, I'd prefer it if you were angry."

"I am angry."

"You know what I mean. Fury, visible fury. I was expecting you to break something, smash a glass cabinet, or shout at the very least. This lack of emotion is unnerving."

Chabouillet regarded Gisquet with a cool eye. His knuckles were white as they gripped the head of his cane, they had been full of tension the whole carriage ride back to the Prefecture. His posture was as stiff and upright as ever, his expression calm and resolute.

"Breaking things will not bring him back. Excessive emotion will only hinder me and I need to think clearly."

Javert had not returned from the alleyway after the allotted time, and so against Gisquet's better judgement Chabouillet had exited the carriage to look for him. They had no back up, and the only other soul with the knowledge to say where they had gone was Devaux, and Gisquet was sure he would not have the wits to speak up. How they had come to be here, two of the most powerful men in Paris, alone in this mission and full of desperation, neither could say. Chabouillet would not allow himself to be subject to such vulnerability. He was fair with a sword, and he carried one on him at all times, concealed within his cane. He had come face to face with the lowlife of the city and he was not afraid, and he carried with him the air of the wolf who has lost a cub and will stop at nothing to see it returned to the nest. And so he stepped into the alley without fear and without inhibition. And he found nothing.

It was deserted, the houses boarded. He wrenched several boards off with the leverage of his cane and soon the street was full of splintered wood. He checked every house, but they were empty, he pressed his fingers to door seams and found no hidden passageways. Javert had vanished.

Upon returning to the street, out of breath and filled with anger, he had set about tipping up the smaller barrels and crates. He knew they were too small for a man of Javert's stature, but he searched anyway, for his heart demanded he do something. In the slip between two tall buildings he shoved down a box of mouldy fruit, and beneath that he upturned a slattered crate.

It tumbled to the cobbles with a loud thump and then rolled a distance away. He followed it with his eyes, watching Javert's cudgel roll into the dip between street and pavement and then stop.

Now it rested on the table of Gisquet's office, everything cleared except the instrument, given pride of place like a museum artefact. Chabouillet was thankful that they had found no traces of blood on it, but apart from that there was little comfort. Javert had surely been taken within the alleyway, for a criminal mind would not think to carry a cudgel back to that place simply to hide it. No, it had remained there the whole time.

Gisquet allowed Chabouillet to pace before the fire for several minutes, his own hands wringing, before he spoke up again.

"I am not so sure what we do now."

Chabouillet ignored him, but he stopped his aggressive stride back and forth up and down along the prefect's carpet. He gripped the mantelpiece with one hand and curled his fist tight around his cane with the other. With his eyes pressed shut and his forehead furrowed he thought hard. Finally he withdrew and with a deep sigh and expression of regret he turned to Gisquet.

"Now we involve the rest of the force. We get men out into that street and get them searching. We open up the investigation to those with more experience in the field."

"Andre, no, we cannot."

"We have lost a government employee and an officer of the law in one fell swoop. If we keep this hidden they will want to know why we kept it to ourselves for so long, it has already been over twenty-four hours since Monsieur Nay's disappearance. Previously, no one needed to know, but circumstances have changed and God knows we cannot do this alone."

"But my reputation—"

"I don't give a damn about your reputation."

Gisquet stuttered and pressed a hand to his face, drained of colour and wrought with despair. "These kidnappers know of my proclivities, and so will the whole country when we release the note for examination. I will be ruined."

"As you say, they know, and they will continue to know even once Monsieur Nay is back and safe in your arms." Chabouillet was under a great strain as he tried to keep his voice level. He had thought about Gisquet's earlier words and agreed that perhaps it would be better to scream and shout and stamp his foot and smash his cane into the nearest pane of glass. Yet that would solve nothing. He would have a room full of glass and still no Javert "Who is to say they will not keep making demands?"

"Who is to say they do not know about your proclivities too? They have taken Javert also, maybe it is for that reason."  
Chabouillet closed his eyes and pictured Javert before him, requested that the image give him strength within this private moment. When he had summoned up enough energy he opened his eyes and rested his gaze on Gisquet.

"I would happily retire if such a rumour was exposed. My power means nothing if he is not at my side." His eyes slid down Gisquet's figure in a slow and deliberate movement. "I would hope you feel the same, although it seems as if you see all your little secretaries as disposable playthings and nothing more. I thought I knew you better."

"There is no truth in that," Gisquet spoke, his voice wavering as it rose in volume. He lifted a finger and pointed it at Chabouillet. "You have no right to make such accusations. At least I do not send mine away for decades at a time in order to further my career."

"You cannot hurt me with such baseless statements." Chabouillet, too, found himself shouting, and he did not appreciate being made to raise his voice. "I did no such thing, and for Christ's sake, now is not the time. Every moment we waste is another moment towards their potential deaths. You will find a way to deal with the ruin."

Gisquet glanced wildly round the room as if hoping Jules-Ernest might spring from behind a suit of armour and yell 'surprise!' No such reprieve was delivered. "I suppose— If it came to it..."

"Yes?"

"My daughter—... I could always pair them together. Then there would be no gossip about him spending time in my apartments."

Chabouillet gave him a curious look. "I forgot you have a wife."

"So do you."

"But not children."

Gisquet looked up and beheld Chabouillet with a weary smile atop his pale face. "Is there a difference?"

"Naturally. My private relationships are very well crafted to my needs and I do not regret my marriage in the slightest. Mme Chabouillet is as happy as I."

Gisquet raised an eyebrow, but did not question anything. He didn't have the strength even if he were curious to know more. They were closer than men of their position had ever been or perhaps ever should be, but there was so much kept secret between them.

"We are wasting time," Gisquet said finally. "Perhaps we do not need to tell everyone, a select few would suffice. Who can we trust?"

"Amongst the officers? Very few."

"What about Dubois?"

"God no. We can trust Dubois the least."

Gisquet mumbled something about him coming from a good family and knowing his father well, but not with enough clarity to form an argument. He mentally ticked off a few officers in his mind, but he didn't know them as well as Chabouillet did, and Chabouillet was quick to inform him that there were hardly any who would afford the situation the discretion it deserved.

"We still have Monsieur Devaux on our side," Gisquet offered. "I gave him a stiff brandy and requested that he lie down until we returned."

"Another of your empty-headed _secretaries_? I do not think so." The contempt Chabouillet placed on the word was so extreme that Gisquet recoiled with a start.

"If you mean to call them whores then perhaps you should let go of pretence and just get on with it."

Chabouillet let out a huff of air through his nose. "I do not wish to quarrel with you Henri, but what can Devaux do?"

"I am unsure, but he would want to know of this most recent development."

Chabouillet considered. "You are right, he has always been fond of Javert. Where is he?"

"In your office, the furniture is more comfortable."

Chabouillet resisted a retort and took a deep breath. He lifted his cane and slid it across his palm, feeling the grooves against his fingertips. The action was calming and he'd always found a certain therapy in it. Gisquet followed at his heel as he crossed the corridor and into his office.

Devaux was not lying across the comfortable canapé. He was not behind it in the alcove, where on occasion an intimate secretary might pile up the cushions in the space between the wooden back and the wall and sleep between services. He was not in Chabouillet's chair, or beneath the desk, nor was he in the ante-chamber.

"You are sure it was my office?" Chabouillet asked, drawing back each of the curtains with the tip of his cane.

"Quite sure. I settled him myself on that very canapé and commanded him under no circumstances to move until we returned."

"But he is not here."  
Gisquet grazed his forehead with the heel of his hand and raised his eyes heavenward. "He must have gone home, exhausted with worry no doubt."

"Henri," Chabouillet said steadily. "It is very late and no fiacres pass here beyond eight or so. Only the prearranged carriages such as yours or mine wait in the street."

Gisquet's hand travelled down his face until he was covering his mouth with his palm, forbidding himself from letting out a panicked cry. His face had drained of colour and his eyes darted left and right above his fingers.

"Remain calm," Chabouillet said, striding towards the door before calling out into the corridor for the night clerk. He turned back to see Gisquet still firmly rooted to the spot. "He may have taken your carriage home. He is a smart boy, after hearing what has happened to Monsieur Nay he will surely take care of himself."

Chabouillet instructed the night clerk to check for the two stately carriages that belonged to himself and Gisquet, and he requested that the man run. After hearing boots squeak and clack on the tiled floor, Chabouillet returned to his office and took a firm grip of Gisquet's upper arm.

"Sit down man, before you faint." He lowered Gisquet into his comfortable chair, ensuring that his Prefect was not slumping. Within the minute the clerk had reappeared at the door, rapping urgently and out of breath.

"Monsieur Chabouillet, both your carriages are still waiting."

Chabouillet calmly thanked the clerk and dismissed him to his duties, then rounded on Gisquet who had blanched considerably. So far the Prefect's eyes had remained dry, although now they appeared slightly red around the rims. Chabouillet pulled his own handkerchief from his inner pocket and handed it wordlessly to Gisquet.

"Are you convinced enough that we should involve the rest of the force?"

Gisquet nodded mutely, then opened his mouth to speak, voice a taut whisper. "We should never have left him alone."

"There are men guarding the doors and more than one clerk on duty. A team of kidnappers could not have merely come through the window and stolen him away without a fuss. There is something more to this."

"You are suggesting he is involved?"

Chabouillet resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Of course not. I simply think that the Prefecture is secure, he must have left the building of his own accord."

"And disobeyed my orders?"

"Perhaps." Chabouillet lifted his chin and tapped his throat thoughtfully. "To follow us and see that Javert returned safe, I do not think that is beyond the realm of possibility."

Gisquet's fingers curled into a tight fist which he proceeded to slam on the desk before him. He barely missed dislodging the inkwell, but several papers did scatter. He mustered the energy to groan in frustration, then brought the handkerchief back up to his eyes. "I have lost everything," He said, creasing the fabric in his fist. "All in one day"

"I, too, have lost a great deal tonight," Chabouillet said quietly. He moved to the window and drew the curtain back with his cane. The rain had begun to fall again, a lighter shower than before, enough to coat the cobbles with a glisten of silver, and enough to clear the streets of boot prints and hand prints and all the evidence in between. He watched as the last pedestrians of the street found their shelter, even the usual cluster of women who hovered outside the Prefecture most evenings, none of them realising the futility of looking for business there. All except a gamin, whose threadbare clothes of dirty white shone like a shooting star against the dark pavements as he streaked towards the Prefecture.

It was not long after this observation that Chabouillet heard an efficient knock on the door, and then the night clerk entered, his fist clutching a rectangle of dripping rag paper. Chabouillet did not need to look, but he peeled back the paper anyway and read the writing even as the ink spread from the water.

_'M. Gisquet, Ransom demands for your second little mouse to follow. Do not fear for them, although caught, we shall keep your mice safe and warm in this rain. M. Chabouillet's rat too.'_

Chabouillet crumpled the wet paper in his hand, his visage cracking for just a moment, but he pressed his lips together and kept his stinging eyes wide. He would not let this destroy him, he would do all in his power to rescue Javert, and by God did he have power enough.

"The force, Henri, we summon them tonight. I will send messengers to retrieve them from their beds and we will promise extra pay for the inconvenience, and then we send them out and do not let them return to this building until every scrap of evidence is found."

"Wait."

"For how much longer? I thought you were decided. Put your pride aside for once and help these men."

"It is not that." Gisquet's fingertips were tracing the rim of the inkwell, blue stains were crossing his skin in small patches, yet his eyes were glassy as if he had not noticed. "I have another idea."

"Tell me quickly."

"The National Guard."

"What of them?"

"They are mine to control." Gisquet placed a fingertip on top of the nearest quill and guided it in a circle around its pot with the air of a man playing with his toy soldiers. He raised his gaze to Chabouillet, a harrowed gaze of dark circles and pallid cheeks, but his brow was set. "I oversee their training and have scanned all their documents, I know which ones we can trust." He gave Chabouillet a pointed look: "Which ones don't have wives."

Chabouillet nodded. "A small contingent could close off the street and search it thoroughly, we would not need to concern ourselves with warrants, and they would ask less questions than our lot. Yes, this is better." He summoned the clerk once more who appeared a little flustered at having been called more times in one night than in a whole month's work. The clerk in question stood to attention as Gisquet returned to his office for a brief moment before reappearing with a cluster of papers in his hands. He rifled through them at speed, placing a select few on a pile beside him, then turned to the clerk.

Gisquet cleared his throat. "You are to send messengers to each of these men. They are to arrive in uniform and armed and no other information is to be given to them until they get here." He handed over the chosen pile and pointed to the top line where the guard's names were neatly printed. "Demaret, Chagnon, Gounelle, D'Aboville, Dupuy, Rochefort, Levett, Appell, Robillard, and Fauchelevent. Do not make me repeat it."

Chabouillet's cold eyes slid from Gisquet and then to the clerk as he watched him run off down the corridor. If he had recognised any familiarity in the latter name then he did not show it in the blank expression on his face.


End file.
